


Incubus

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drama, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-24
Updated: 2007-04-24
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:30:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8698912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: The devil isn't the only thing that comes in many forms. Follow-up to "Chasing The Devil"; but can be read as a stand-alone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Incubus**  
_By: Lexalot_  
  
Summary: The devil isn't the only thing that comes in many forms.  
  
Rating: R  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own them, but this is what I'd do with them if I did :)  
  
Pairing: Dean/Sam  
  
Spoilers: Skin (vague)  
  
Inspiration and Reference: Book - "Fallen Angels...and Spirits of the Dark"  
  
Warnings: Incest! Also, contains some mild references to necrophilia.  
  
Note: Follow-up to "Chasing The Devil"; but can be read as a stand-alone.  
  
***  
  
"No!" Sam shouted, for all the good it didn't do him. Blood dripping on his forehead. Opening his eyes. Ceiling. Fire. Same goddamn story. Same goddamn dream. Every goddamn time. Only it wasn't Jess anymore. Now it was Dean. He stared up at the body pinned above him by some unseen force, by the hand of evil itself maybe. Who knew? The only thing he knew was that his brother was a split second away from dying in a flash fire that would burn blue and take Dean the same way it had taken Jess. But then, Dean's mouth moved. He was trying to tell Sam something. It was less than a whisper. His mouth kept moving but Sam couldn't hear a sound. Suddenly, Dean's voice came loud and jarring.  
  
"End of the line, Sammy!"  
  
Sam's eyes shot open to the sight of Dean standing outside the passenger's side door.  
  
Never one to let patience get the better of him, Dean turned away and headed for the motel office. "Come on. Don't think I'm going to drag your ass inside."  
  
Rubbing at his eyes, Sam shook off the nightmare. For months he had been reliving Jess's death in his sleep, but in the last three weeks, it had become Dean's. However, his visions of death had never tried to communicate with him before. Sort of defeated the purpose of being catatonic while being filleted alive. Dean had been trying to say something in the dream, and Sam supposed that it would have been too easy to have actually heard him. Knowing would take all the wondrous fun out of guessing.  
  
The first night he had dreamt that Dean was the one on the ceiling, Sam had woken up to see a dark figure standing at the foot of Dean's motel bed, hovering over him like some monster in a fairytale who snatches babies in the night. That was almost a month ago. And Sam hadn't seen that mysterious and menacing devil again since. Not even a blip on the radar, or a gut feeling from that funky psychic thing he had going on these days. That strange little ability was only getting stronger. And it was only getting more confusing, grating, vexing. Like Dean.  
  
Speak of the devil...  
  
"Well, it's good to know something out there has a sense of humor." Dean dangled the key in front of him. "Room 13. It's the only one they have left." He smirked with that familiar cynical spark in his eye. "You've gotta love good old-fashioned irony."  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
No matter what motel they wound up at come the end of the day, it felt the same. Same exact deal, different name. Like Sam's nightmare. And like everywhere they went, Sam laid in bed awake wondering how worthwhile it was to sleep when it's all to the tune of a broken record. The last thing he wanted was to fall asleep and watch the needle skip over its scratch for the hundredth time. Especially if he was helpless to do anything about it.  
  
But what if he wasn't helpless? His clairvoyant nightmare was now trying to tell him something it hadn't ever tried to say before. What if all he needed to do was listen, and there in the white noise, an answer would emerge from all the static? No, he still didn't want to do it. No more than he'd want to induce a near-death experience to find out if there was a God. Though if he did do that, he'd be sure to ask 'Why me?' before being brought back. If he could get that answer, dying might be worth it. But then, who would watch out for Dean? Who would keep him company if Sam weren't around to hunt with him until death do they part? Dean couldn't do this alone. And Sam couldn't let him do it alone. And Dean would never stop doing it. So there it was. They were both eternally screwed.  
  
Sam and Dean, Daddy's little soldiers forever. He glanced over at Dean on the other side of the room. Big brother was resting peacefully under a cheap comforter on top of an even cheaper bed. Sam was tired of being the only one to be kept awake by the things he knew were out there. He was tired of holding normal in his hand and watching it slip right through his fingers. He was tired of that fucking dream. He was tired of being so fucking tired. If he could be more like Dean and not care... Well, actually, if he were more like Dean, he'd be everything he never wanted to be and everything he always wanted to be all at once.  
  
Staring at Dean just made Sam think of the vision. Dean on the ceiling and then the fire devours him whole. It wouldn't happen. Sam couldn't let anything take the last vestige of sanity he had, the last thing in this world that was his, the only one left who truly loved him and wanted him around, even needed him. It was too much. Sam hated this feeling, hated it worse than dying. If something was after him, why didn't it just come and get him already and leave his loved ones alone. Whatever it was, it was still out there somewhere. And it was hunting those closest to him. He bit back anger and tears at thoughts of losing Dean. Knew he shouldn't think this way, but there were other things he shouldn't be thinking either. Like how short the distance was between their beds and how easy it would be to cross that ocean of pain and estrangement to finally reach his brother.  
  
The first and last time Sam had tried to build a bridge between him and Dean, Dean had sent him back over it to the other side. They had always felt this, wanted it, known it was there. Sam just didn't know how to get there anymore. He had burned that bridge a long time ago and now he didn't know how to repair it. Still, he had tried. They had been hunting the Jersey Devil three weeks ago, and Sam had made a move. But apparently, Dean hadn't thought Sam was ready. Or that he really meant it, really wanted it, whatever.  
  
Now they were on a case in Newburgh, Indiana. A woman was killed by her husband, who happened to be dead at the time and whose corpse went missing after the murder, and now there were two more dead women in the same town. There was a number of things it could have been, but Dean had his mind made up the second he read the story. Incubus. He was probably right. From what they knew, all the details fit. So here they were, another case, another place. So why not take another chance? This idle march they'd adopted was just waiting to fall out of cadence.  
  
What the hell? He was feeling brave, almost as much as he felt alone. Sam climbed out of his bed and approached Dean's. This not so subtle move felt familiar. He paused at the bedside, looking down at his brother. He hesitated. After all, last time didn't go too well. He had taken Dean's rejection in stride, but he didn't know if he could brush it off like that again. This time he wasn't sure he would be able to chalk it up to his brother's quirks and mood swings without taking it personally. He spent five seconds wondering what he was doing and then he decided to do it anyway. What was it they said about not learning from the mistakes of the past?  
  
As soon as Sam's knee sunk into the mattress, Dean spoke without even opening his eyes. "What is it, Sammy?"  
  
"I just..." Oh yeah. And how could he forget the one about the definition of insanity being when you repeat the same action and expect to get different results. "Couldn't we just...?"  
  
Dean interrupted Sam before he could trip over his mistake and fall flat on his ass. "Sam?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
Dean opened his eyes and gave Sam a hard stare. "Strike two."  
  
That's what he got for his attempt at reaching out? A warning? Sam's tone turned from timid to demanding. "I think we need to talk about this."  
  
"There's nothing to talk about except that we've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow and you should try to get some sleep."  
  
Sam could tell Dean was going to be barrels of fun on this trip. For someone with a devil-may-care attitude, Dean could be surprisingly uptight sometimes, and Sam actually preferred the smart-ass to the soldier in charge. As much as Sam wanted to know what made Dean tick, he wasn't sure he could find out without getting caught in the gears.  
  
As he withdrew from Dean's bed and his entire half of the room, Sam tried not to laugh bitterly, but his tone went irrepressibly sour. "You're the boss, Dean."  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
"So? What do we know?"  
  
So, ghosthunting G.I. Joe was still here. All business Dean today. They had made the rounds, and Big Brother was still trying to play it cool and commanding. Not surprising. Sam supposed he should feel lucky Dean didn't try to confine him to his bunk for a day. "Three dead women. The first, a wife killed by her husband after they had sex. The two that followed were seduced and killed by two seemingly different men, both attackers being someone they knew." He felt like he should have saluted when he was finished relaying all that information, but it probably would have just pissed off Dean. More, that is.  
  
"Any connection between the victims?" All leadership, no soul. Dean must have been too busy repressing to wisecrack at the moment.  
  
"None." Sam stared at him listlessly and leaned back against the side of the car.  
  
"Well, we have a guy seducing and then murdering some girl in three separate cases, we've got a missing and possibly re-animated male corpse, and sex is always involved. Sammy, we've got ourselves an incubus." Ah, the sound of Dean's massive ego as it grew stronger and harder to control.  
  
"How do we know it's not another shapeshifter?"  
  
The gleam of self-assured brilliance dulled in Dean's eyes and was replaced with minor exasperation. "Because." Dean paused pointedly, as if he wasn't going to justify Sam's blasphemous doubt with a response. "First of all, this thing doesn't seem to be shedding chunks of old skin. So my guess? Not a shapeshifter." Dean took a quick sip of his coffee, grimacing like it was pure sludge. "Shapeshifter's have their own bodies. They don't need someone else's. A demon that likes to fuck and get off before the kill, on the other hand, needs to inhabit a corporeal form. It's too much of a hassle for them to get a live body, so they just grab whatever's fresh on the dead meat market."  
  
Dean tossed Sam a newspaper. It was a bit ruffled, six days old by the date on the front page.  
  
As Sam read the second headline down, Dean smirked triumphantly. "The first victim's husband was killed in a car accident the day he had sex with her and then allegedly suffocated her to death. The police estimate that the sex-slash-murder took place between midnight and 2 a.m. Guess when the husband's car crashed."  
  
"I'm going to guess long before midnight."  
  
"On his way to work at 7 o'clock the morning before all this happened. Someone spotted his car half-submerged in the river, went down, checked it out, and saw the man inside was pale blue, not breathing, no pulse, no heartbeat. The Good Samaritan called the police, but by time they got there, the body had disappeared. They seem to think he was dragged off by an animal, but there's a problem with that theory. Only one trail leading away from the scene; a single set of human footprints. Without the body, they couldn't declare him dead and they couldn't get in touch with his wife because she was out of town, so when she got back that night, she never could have known."  
  
"So this woman made love to her husband's corpse and she didn't notice anything was wrong?"  
  
"An incubus is like a shapeshifter so it can look perfectly normal, alive and well, identical to the person whose appearance it's imitating, whether it's their body or not, but there's one very dangerous difference. Unlike a shapeshifter, the incubus thrives by keeping its victims in its thrall. It survives by creating an illusion that human eyes can't see past when it's working its mojo. It put the whammy on these women, and they never had a chance. This particular incubus obviously has a penchant for asphyxiation. And the whammy thrall theory explains why there were no signs of struggle in any of the reports. They didn't fight back, never even knew what hit them." Dean cracked a proud smile, a familiar sight that comforted Sam as much as it disgusted him. "Tell me I'm good."  
  
Sam couldn't help it. He smiled back. But only for a second. "Only if you tell me we have a way to kill this thing."  
  
"As a matter of fact, I don't. But that doesn't mean I'm not good."  
  
This time Sam smiled wider. That's what he liked to hear. The Dean he still wanted to strangle but for the right reasons. For being Dean. Because Dean was sharp as a rock and made just as good a pet. Finally, past the awkwardness and back to Winchester brotherly basics.  
  
Dean took a breath and put on his serious face for fighting evil. "We're going to have to figure something out. Exorcisms are party tricks and running gags to these things. Sacred objects, all the usual charms and deterrents won't even make a dent."  
  
"There has to be something... It's gotta have a weakness."  
  
"Well, I think we can rule out Kryptonite."  
  
Alright, now Dean was in full-blown cocky mode. Sam was missing the repressive Dean already. "If we can't strike at what it is, then maybe we can strike at what it needs. If it has to inhabit a dead body, then it's gotta be vulnerable to the wear and tear on it, right? If it's gotta keep its victims under a spell so they don't fight back, then it's got something to lose if they do."  
  
Dean's eyes lit like it was Halloween. "Take its free ride out, cleanse and destroy the corpse. Hit it where it lives." Dean mulled it over as he rounded the front of the car to the driver's side door. "That might actually work."  
  
"Aren't you going to tell me how good I am?"  
  
"Of course not." Dean's tone was simple, matter-of-fact. "Because I'm better."  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
The water cascaded down Sam's bare skin. The scent of chlorine, rust, and other contaminants flooded the tiny bathroom, but the water still felt good as it pelted his flesh. Washed over his tall and lean figure, hugging the curves of muscle in his chest and arms, abs and thighs. He slicked back his wet fall of hair and watched the dimly lit room fill with steam.  
  
They hadn't had a chance to get dirty on this job yet, but Sam could feel it coming. That coat of grime that would cling to him after chasing some heinous evil through sewers and decrepit old buildings. That layer of dirt that would set into one of his only shirts, smear all over his favorite pair of jeans, saturate his hair and cover his face from a cemetery or the woods or some ground they were consecrating. That scent of smoke that would linger until the next burning body or house. He never felt truly clean.  
  
And yet somehow, Dean never seemed to feel filthy. He'd get dirty, but Sam assumed Dean was too used to it for the unclean feeling to really bother him. Not that Dean didn't love a good, hot shower. But nothing really got under Dean's skin. Whereas Sam felt like he had never built up a thick enough skin to keep anything out. Maybe that was his problem. Or maybe it was Dean's.  
  
Didn't seem to matter much. No difference if it the issue was family or sex. Whatever the problem was, they would either work it the hell out or ignore the hell out of it. Everything was a coin toss with Dean. Heads, Sam loses. Tails, Dean wins. Always that way with his brother.  
  
Tonight's mental coin toss left Sam alone in the shower while Dean was fast asleep in his lumpy motel bed. Instead of talking and dealing with any feelings above and beyond the brotherly call of duty that there may be between them, Dean chose to follow the 'don't ask, don't tell' rule of motel sharing and turn in early. Instead of longing for the normality that was fading from his life like a distant echo, Sam longed for Dean, wishing he were there under the soothing hot water of the shower. His sex hung heavy, hard and aching to be the object of Dean's lust. Sam could think of nothing more satisfying in that moment than for Dean's perpetual carnal appetite to consume him.  
  
Sam closed his eyes, and wrapped his hand around his cock, thinking only of Dean. But before he could start stroking, he heard something. His eyes opened and he listened carefully. A disembodied voice whispered right into his ear, almost as if it was inside his head. "I'm never going to leave you." Sam could have almost sworn it was even his own voice, but it couldn't have been. He hadn't said anything.  
  
He quickly turned off the running water, but the voice was gone. There was nothing. He kept listening, but the silence only grew more alarming. He jumped out of the plastic shower and threw on his jeans. As he fumbled with the zipper, he had a thought. Maybe those were the words from his dream, what Dean had been mouthing before flames erupted all around him. Keeping all this to himself was going nowhere at light-speed. He had to talk to his brother. This had grown way too unsettling to go any longer without telling Dean about it.  
  
"Dean, did you hear that?" The words were soft-spoken, and they were out of his mouth before he even had the bathroom door all the way open, but when he took his first step out of the warm mist, he froze.  
  
There was Dean lying on the bed. With a man on top of him. Not just any man. Sam. Sam was sitting on top of him. Or someone wearing Sam's clothes complete with face and body was on top of him. All over him, in fact. And Dean was more than inviting or willing. He was into it. He seemed very into it. Dean's mouth was locked passionately with this imposter's, and he was arching up into him like an animal in heat.  
  
Sam tried to wrench himself from his state of shock fast, but nothing had prepared him for the sight of this. Then, as this other Sam's hand slid down to Dean's boxers, the real Sam finally took a stand. "Dean!"  
  
Dean broke the lip-lock and looked over at Sam. Who he suddenly realized was standing across the room in front of the open bathroom door. Dean must have seen the distress in Sam's eyes because his face glazed over with confusion and fear. Stunned in that instant, Dean's eyes widened, locking tightly with Sam's. They had achieved comprehension.  
  
Their gapes simultaneously turned to the thing straddling Dean. It was no longer Sam's face. It was putrid. Ashen blue. The look of the decaying dead as worn by something peering out from inside with scalding red eyes.  
  
It took a second, but Dean's instincts seemed to snap back even if his senses still left him in a twisted wasteland. Like a knee-jerk reflex, Dean launched a solid right fist that sent the head spinning to the side and knocked the corpse off the bed and to the floor.  
  
Dean gawked at this thing on the floor, jarred. Sam had never seen him jolted like that. Nothing ever shook his brother up anymore. But there he was. Shaken. When the thing that had been posing as Sam didn't move, it seemed like they had been able to thwart the incubus, and that meant this was their chance to keep it from getting its vessel of choice back. But Dean was still too thrown to think about that. When he was sure the thing on the ground was out of commission for the time being, his head jerked back to stare at Sam.  
  
For once, Dean was speechless. Sam didn't particularly care for it. And he really didn't like what it took to make Dean shut up for a change. He had never seen his brother so lost. And that didn't make Sam feel any more found. He had to do something. He needed to take charge. Because Dean looked like his brain was about to meltdown in T-minus 5, 4, 3, 2... "Dean, are you okay?" Dean blinked, and Sam wondered if it was a code. One blink for yes, two for no. "Dean, the body."  
  
"Right." Dean was breathless, wild-eyed. Like he'd just gotten off a psychotropic rollercoaster. He blinked again, and looked back at the thing on the floor. "Right."  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
Dean tossed the shovel in the trunk as dawn crept over the hillside. The fire that had eaten away the incubus's puppet cadaver was dead, and they had covered the area with salt and holy water so it couldn't recover its earthly toy. Their work here was done, and it was time to get on their way again.  
  
But things were far from being back to business as usual for them. Dean had been running in stealth mode ever since they dragged this thing out of the motel room. "Well, I don't know about you, but I feel violated, and I desperately need a shower."  
  
No. No way. This wasn't going to fly under Sam's radar. "Dean, hold on." Sam rushed to catch up with him.  
  
His brother stopped in his tracks. He didn't have Sam's little psychic gift. Nevertheless, he knew what was coming. "What is it, Sammy?"  
  
"What happened?" Sam watched Dean's eyes start to roll, and before they could make the full circle back to glaringly annoyed, Sam pushed that much more. "You're not allowed to shut me out on this one. You usually spot these things a mile away, but this got by you and the thing did it as me. So what was it about this time that was different, Dean? What did it say?"  
  
Cornered. Dean's eyes gave nothing away. Except that he hated being asked these questions. It made sense. Of all the things Dean hated, being afraid was the one he hated most. "You know all those things we need to talk about, Sam? This isn't one of them."  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
The dream. Dean again. Same scene on the ceiling. But something was different. The dark figure was there this time. Sam was lying in bed, and this devil was sitting on top of him. Just like the incubus demon had done to Dean. A menacing whisper. "I'm never going to leave you." Not the same voice as before. This time it was coming from the dark figure. The same one whose silhouette was partially obscuring the ceiling as it leaned over Sam. Coming between him and his brother. Sam tried to see over this devil's shoulder. Dean was trying to speak again but his words were completely drowned out by the hellish disembodied voice, and then the muted roar of the flames as they fanned out from Dean's burning body.  
  
Sam's eyes opened. He lifted his head off the passenger's side window and took a deep breath. He watched houses pass out of the side mirror until there was nothing but trees.  
  
"What's wrong, Sammy? Did you enter the Dead Zone again?" No answer. It only made Dean more determined. "You didn't by any chance see us win the lottery, did you?" When Sam turned to look at him with exhausted and sad eyes, Dean's cold taunting little smirk melted away.  
  
"You know all those things we need to talk about?"  
  
Dean stared at him for a moment, silent and solemn. Sam stared back. A minute turned into two, and then without a sound, Sam turned back to the window.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
 


End file.
